


To The Waters and the Wild

by dulceata2



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:10:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dulceata2/pseuds/dulceata2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Jareth was sulking, Sarah's been busy cultivating her ties to the royal fey. Now when she is summoned to court to serve as the royal bodyguard, what mischief will ensue?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“God damned, stupid fairies” I grumbled as I pulled myself out of the lake.  
“You forget brave, wise and hot as hell.” The boy-man sat with one foot over his right knee. He was wearing ripped jeans with an emerald green muscle shirt and on his shoulders hung a leather jacket with small slits on the back for his wings to fit through. His hair was black, his eyes were blue.... and his sharp teeth peeked over his lips in a wicked smile.  
“You would know” I grumbled at him.  
“Ah but ye forget, out tithe's been paid forsooth four years and not hath me -”  
“Hmph” I mutter.  
“Hath not thou forgot thy introductions fair lady?” he crooned dangerously.  
I looked up sharply, oh yeah, the fucking tradition.  
“Dost thou not know me Robin?” I stall.  
“I know thee and yet I don't know thee” he answered while letting his teeth show fully.  
“Failte. I am called Sarah mac Williams, wizard-mage extraordinaire attached to the court of Oberon and welcome at his call. I am the daughter of a mortal woman and an elven blood father, despite my mortal “dad.” The fairies call this proof that my father deigned to place his attention upon my mother -.”  
“Which it was”  
“Shut up Puck” I glare at him, “but I think it was just because he couldn't keep it in his pants.”  
“Oh thy words do pain our honor true” the boy-man, now known as Puck, exclaimed dramatically.  
“Knock it off or I'll throw this at you” I told him darkly as I poured water out of my boot.  
“You cannot harm me, my fair – oof!”  
He tumbled off the rock he had been perched on.  
I continued the process with my other boot as he stood up, eyes shooting sparks and fingers encased in blue light.  
“Insolent wench” he cursed, throwing the ball at me.  
I recognized it as a fairly minor curse, he was not that annoyed, nor that stupid. When it reached me it “bounced,” for lack of a better word, back at him.  
He swore as he jumped out of the way.  
I wiggled my fingers at him playfully.  
“Take off ye damned iron rings so I can turn your head into that of an ass” he demanded crossly.  
“Umm... no?”  
“Fine” he muttered and stomped off. Leaving me to trail after him, wringing my shirt out all the while.  
I hate wet jeans.


	2. Chapter 2

“Did I mention how much I hate wet clothing?” I asked for the seventh time as I followed behind my erstwhile guide. Seven is a magic number, in case you weren't aware.  
He grumbled in front of me, something unintelligible but not deferential, that I could tell.  
“I said -”  
“I bloody well heard you” he bit out. His Scots always came through a bit when his ire was up.  
So I decided to poke him again.  
“When will we get there?”  
He didn't answer and we continued walking for another good ten minutes.  
Squelching. I hate squelching.   
Another five minutes passed.  
“Aargh I can't take it any more!” I took hold of the seams of the innate magic and ripped.  
“Why didn't you just do that in the first place, instead of making me search for - “  
“Ah ha!” I pointed an accusatory figure at him. “So you were lost!”  
“Not so!” he ground out. “The gate was hidden.”  
“You were lost” I told him over my shoulder as I stepped through the portal that I had torn out.  
“Hidden” he muttered as he stepped through after me.  
The portal closed behind us without a rip to show that it had been there. All was silent, except for a single echo.  
“Lo-ost”

We appeared outside of what looked like an old hunting cabin in a clearing of a dark forest. At least that's what it looked like to the unwary observer.  
Puck appeared behind me brushing off dust that wasn't there and muttering about last minute- late shortcuts and the like.  
I stilled. Something felt wrong. My ears were twitching and there was a faint burned feeling on my fingers from my rings. To my left I saw what should have been the traditional gateway. It was twisted. Curving around itself in an ugly loop. And it was oozing somehow.  
“Not sure how metal can ooze” I mutter distractedly as I probe it gently with a touch of power.  
“Well why don't you poke it and find out?” Puck stated behind me, still focused on brushing of his precious jacket.  
I turn and raise an eyebrow at him, and he finally looked up.  
“Told you it was hidden” was all he said.  
“Hmm...yes” I pull out another of my rings and slip it on, just in case.  
It was my silver one with carved owls along the inside. The one that always reminded me of fifteen years ago and mistakes made.  
Well since it was out, I might as well leave it on. After all... There was no such thing as coincidences, at least not here.  
“You were going to tell me why I was called after such a long silence” I turned to look fully at my companion.  
“No I wasn't” he told me. I could tell my new seriousness had startled him. Otherwise he would have lied.  
I smiled at him, showing an equal amount of teeth in what was more of a threat than friendly gesture.  
“You realize I can make you” I told him cordially.  
“King Oberon would never -” he started.  
“King Oberon leaves loopholes,” I told him, “If I remember correctly it was 'thou shalt not bring power against mine own subjects, unless for just cause.”  
“Damn” he muttered under his breath, careful to use an ambiguous curse. Although it was not a tithe year, it was best not to call attention to oneself.  
“If you were under Titania, she would never have allowed you such freedom” he stated.  
“Ah but the queen likes me today. Probably not tomorrow” I answered smoothly, “It's her son who is pissed at me.”


	3. Chapter 3

The small cabin was, of course, not a cabin.   
Spider-silk hangings decorated the walls in various shades of silver and the carvings on the upholstery were all of ivy leaves and vines. Moonshine shone off the glass of the crystal light sources. And the clothes; my god the clothes.  
It was a costume-lovers paradise. I almost felt embarrassed in my ripped jeans and band tee.  
Then I remembered how uncomfortable those corsets could be and I perked up.  
“And what brings such a fine lady to our far off shores?” a voice queried from the doorway.  
It was a human male, a rare sight in these fey halls. He was blond and lanky in his early thirties, with a small scar through his left eyebrow. And, though his appearance was youthful, his eyes were old, but green, like mine.  
“Magic's influence” I reminded myself subconsciously.  
He was boyishly handsome, despite his Elizabethan dress, and he knew it.  
“Certainly not your company, Kit” a softer voice snorted from behind him.  
Even the most illiterate would recognize William Shakespeare. Younger, and I could see that he had gotten his ear pierced again.  
“Why Will, whatever can you mean?” he cried dramatically, waving his arms around in a theatrical fashion.  
I jabbed him in the stomach. “Been sneaking into the larder again, haven't you Marlowe?”  
He adopted an offended tone. “Such a pity you grew up my dear. Why, I remember when we first met. You were still a child - “  
“I was seventeen!” I protested.  
“Still a child - “  
“Although I suppose one would appear a child to someone who was over three centuries old”  
“-You were so in awe of getting to meet the Christopher Marlowe” he continued, ignoring my interruptions.  
“Yes, but then you opened your mouth” Will quipped.  
Kit refused to speak to us for the remainder of our walk to my rooms.  
“Where is Good Robin, by and by?” Will asked, “I thought I would ask if he would like to star in one of my newer works.” He had an evil light in his eye.  
Puck hated his depiction in Will's Midsummer. He told me that he had sworn off, what he called “The Dead Poets Society,” for the rest of his immortal life. Choosing instead to associate with the druggy hippy slash rock star groups of aspiring poets instead.  
In return, Will would take any chance he could get to terrorize Puck with the prospect of a sequel to Midsummer.  
“You know, I think he's hiding in the queen's rose garden” I told him innocently.  
Hey, if Puck was going to dump me in a lake, he could not claim my loyalty.  
Plus, it was always fun to watch the mischievous bastard squirm. I could be cruel, I know.

I could hear their laughter as I slipped into my chambers to prepare for my audience with their majesties.  
It was as I remembered, fine cloth and intricate carvings without being gauche. The perks of being part of Oberon's court. Personal rooms and blessedly hot water. Somebody knew me well.  
Not for me the joys of a long bubble bath. As soon as I had washed and was just beginning to fall into a half doze. A young sprite rushed in and hurried me out of paradise. Chattering on about wrinkles and leggings and cloaks.  
Ugh, the cloak.  
Wizard-mage that I was, their highness had named me bard. And with the title came the cloak.  
It was an ugly thing, despite being the traditional uniform of court bards. Made of scraps of cloth pieced together without aesthetic qualms but rather as they came into my life. Bardic cloaks after all, were supposed to be the physical representation of memories and knowledge as it comes.  
I had ugly memories.  
Well worn and ragged, it was comfortable at least. But the coloring did not mix and went sharply against my skin color.  
But one must bend to tradition, so I flung it over the clothing laid out for me.   
“Green leggings and a poet's shirt it is” I thought with a sigh as I pulled my pendant over my head. How little things changed.


	4. Chapter 4

They sat upon thrones carved of elk horn and rowan. He with dark hair and high cheekbones, robed in ivory and midnight, she with golden cascades of curls and soft violets. It was always in them that I was most struck by fey beauty.  
I made my bows but did not remain bent. I had learned such impertinence amused them and yet I was strong in my own right. Wizard-mages are, after all, nothing to sneer at.  
“Mage Williams. We have need of your aid.”  
That surprised me, Not so much that they were requesting aid, it had been known to happen before. No. What was surprising was that the queen was speaking to me. As I mentioned before, the queen did not make a habit of liking me, and the king rarely let her get away with such an appropriation of his prerogative. Whatever that might be.  
“Something is brewing” she continued, “and we have received word it is directed against the tithee. As you know -”   
Which of course I didn't -  
“- our youngest's service will end at the pass of a fortnight. His weary footsteps must not trod a thorny path”  
Ahh the voice of a mother, always willing to protect her baby; even after sending him to Hell to serve for seven years as the Faerie tithe.  
This had stopped surprising me years ago. The seven year tithe was expected to preserve the peace with Hell and it was traditional to apprentice out the nobility's younger generation to cut their teeth on the demons. What was the youngest royal child after all? Not the heir, and thus, no different really than the other aristocratic children.  
I shivered at what kind of mischief he could get up to with demons at his command. But the queen was still speaking.  
“We want you to serve and protect and, before he returns, to scout the path before him. We want to know who threatens the youngest of our blood.”  
The royal “we” combined with our oath of service and protection... a double whammy.  
I was just about to remind her that her son despised me on principle, when I glanced at the king.  
He was giving me the Look. Of course you are familiar with it, the dark eyebrow raised over a forest green pupil that both condescends and implies polite curiosity at this creature's shenanigans.  
I shut my mouth.  
“-find the Rhymer. He should know if trouble lies in that direction, and if not, shall send you in the right direction.”  
The queen was still talking.  
Crap.  
“You have seven hours.”


	5. Chapter 5

And I suddenly appeared in the streets of New York.  
This was nothing new to the residents of the Big Apple. They were used to figures stumbling out of alleys into the bustle of large streets. Even when such figures were dressed as eccentrically as I.  
“I hate it when they do that” I grumbled to myself as I picked myself up.  
I recognized the place. Times Square was the usual transport point. Something about the electrical currents augmenting power. Or something. Puck had tried to explain it to me once, but he got annoyed at the glazed look in my eyes and left off in a huff.  
Silly fairy, trying to explain electricity and physics to a literature major.  
Or maybe it was the naivety of the tourists. Dreams and all that.  
Regardless of the reason, as I looked more closely I began to see the discrepancies.  
A pointed ear beneath dreadlocks.  
A tail disguised as an extra belt.  
Wings hidden by backpacks.  
Moving trash piles.  
Sometimes I wonder how clueless mortals can be.  
But I needed to find the Rhymer, and I knew this was one of his regular areas.  
Beguiling tourists and the like.  
It's not that he didn't have practice, after all, he had snared the queen once upon a time.  
He used to be both bard and lover to Titania. Clothed in velvets and singing ballads to a silver harp. But now he played for coins to buy Big Macs and strummed on a beat-up guitar with three ragged strings.   
Still. There was magic in his voice, despite the passage of time.  
So I began to look in street corners and doorways for guitar players with their cases open before them.

I had forgotten just how many music makers there were on that square.  
As the natural light began to fade and the neon shown brighter, I still had not found him.  
I was beginning to get a headache. The noise rushed over and over in constant waves until it became like a buzz against my brain. Impenetrable. Indistinguishable.  
Even though New York, especially this part of New York, was like a city that never slept; the fey of the sunlight had begun to be replaced by the darker, more dangerous sort. The kind who, instead of taking their magic through the whisper of dreams, were more like to demand it by blood. Blood by force rather than giftings.  
Don't go wandering into dark alleys, my dear.  
There be monsters.  
This presented a problem I had a time limit, but if I named him I would the attention of the other fey. Not the good kind.  
So I gambled.  
I began to sing, not with magic but with the simple vocal chords with which I was born.

I walked the length of the square, watching out of the corner of my eye as I passed, unnoticed, by various street musicians. None could hear me over the noise of the crowds and vendors.  
Until suddenly, I was heard.  
“Y'r off key lady”  
Thomas the Rhymer, Tam Lin, True Thomas. He went by many names, and yet his story was the same.  
Boy meets girl. Boy falls in love with girl. Girl turns out to be the queen of Faerie and drags him underhill to be her lover. And finally, when she tires of him, girl returns boy Above, a hundred years and a day later in mortal time.  
“I have been looking for you, Rhymer”

He was a gangly thing. Long limbs and sharp features with looks that, at one time were dashing but now were encased in too much grime to be called so.  
Green eyes peered up at me, dull and faded, as if he had slept too long.  
Rocking back and forth he crooned lyrics to himself, fingering the second string on his instrument. Most people nowadays would diagnose him as high right now. But no mortal drug was this.  
Elf touched.  
Too long in Faerie, and it calls too him still. So that he is only half in this realm, but wrapped in dreams.  
This was going to be frustrating.  
I squat down, twisting a small notice-me-not glamor charm on my bracelet. Puck called it cheating, but I think he was annoyed he hadn't thought of such shortcuts before me.  
“Thomas” I said, snapping my fingers in front of his face. “Work with me here.”  
“I forbid you maidens, all that wear gold in your hair. To go down to Carterhaugh, for young Tam Lin is there” he sang to himself.  
Oh so he was in one of those moods was he.  
“Thomas are you an idiot?”  
“Yes” he answered, his geis forcing him to speak true, “or rather no. I'm not quite sure.”  
Well at least he was willing to talk with me, his brow creased in mild confusion.  
“What wilt thou have of me, lady” he sighed.  
“What enemy threatens the youngest son?”  
“He who will rise, she who might fall, and she who won”  
Well that was useful. Only if I knew the names and identities of these people of course.  
“Stone is stone. Cross water. Sing” he mutters, intelligence fading.  
“Stay with me Thomas. Where can I find these three?” I shook his shoulders, wincing at the greasy feel of his shirt.  
“Thee, lady, I would lead through Fairyland” he looked up at me, not seeing.  
And... I had lost him. In his mind, he was back in the queen's bower gazing at the flower's of his garden there, as if they were right before his eyes.  
Sorry. Thomas isn't home right now, please leave a message after the beep. Beep.  
I sighed and got up. He had been relatively helpful. Now all I needed was to find Puck to return back below and begin my search.  
“Sometimes forwards is three steps back”  
I turned to look at him. I'd heard it before and I wondered if this was a seer message or a drugged rambling.  
“That is an ugly cloak” He said seriously.  
The man who cannot tell lies indeed.


	6. Chapter 6

I found him staring up at the screen that was the center piece of the square. It was playing an advertisement for a restorative cream of some sort. Wrinkle-free and de-aging.  
“Lord what fools these mortals be” I heard him mutter to himself.  
“Is that Shakespeare by any chance, Puck?”   
He blushed and scowled at me.   
“No” he denied sharply.  
I smiled at him in that knowing fashion that was apt to raise his hackles.  
“Did you get what you needed?” he demanded.  
“Yes”  
“And...?”  
“And... why do you want to know?” I questioned.  
“No reason” he said to quickly and with forced ease.  
I brushed it off as one of his strange quirks and asked if he as going to lead me on another goose chase for the portal, or would I need to make another myself.  
He looked relieved. Strange.  
“No such thing, fair lady. I have -” he paused dramatically “ - a mirror.”  
“How narcissistic of you” I commented innocently.  
“You step through it” he ground out.  
He looked around and then, walked over and stuck the small mirror on a closed store front's wall. With a small flick of his hand another notice-me-not glamor sprang up at the mirror expanded into a large graffiti picture of an open door.  
He was so lucky it was dark out. Show off.  
Then again, mortals rarely notice things that they cannot explain with science and logic.  
He stepped through.  
When I did not immediately follow, he stuck his head back out.  
“Sometime today, Sarah?” he queried sarcastically.  
A disembodied head was calling to me. I snorted. With that thought in my mind I moved towards, and into, the doorway. It was like walking through a thin curtain of water. A sudden cold rush and then a sucking sensation. Then I was once more Underhill.  
It was not the grand throne room from which I had left, but rather a shadowed hall with a series of similar mirrors hung on the walls.  
Puck was no where to be seen.  
He must have been more annoyed than I thought.  
I turned to look to the left, and felt a small sting along my right cheek. I reached up to brush whatever it was off, and felt a faint line of liquid. Blood.  
I swiveled to look back, and saw a dagger protruding out of the wall where my head had been moments before.  
“Ahh shit” I cursed.  
I tugged it out of the wall. No poison. So, not the work of one of the assassin’s guild.... They wouldn't have missed anyways.   
I slipped the dagger into my belt. Free pointy object. Woohoo.  
Perhaps it was a case of mistaken identity. The fey were vicious in their blood feuds. After all, they couldn't have known which mirror I was coming out of.   
But somehow I doubted such a nice excuse was valid.  
I heard muffled laughter.  
I quickly cast a mage light to brighten the dim hall.  
Nothing.  
I kept the small blue light with me anyways as I walked back to my rooms. More for my own comfort than any ability to ward off enemies.  
I was going to have a serious talk with Puck about taking pranks too far, the next time I saw him.  
Regardless, I warded my door that night.


	7. Chapter 7

I sat on my bed flipping my new dagger.  
“He who will rise” I murmured to myself. Take it step by step. It couldn't be flying, too many fey had wings. While riddling was an accepted way of answering and non-answering. It was always fair. The Rhymer will have meant one single person.  
He would awake? No. Less people, but still more than one.  
And anyways, how could the Sleeping King plot when he was asleep?  
I swore and flung the dagger into the nearest wall, it quivered as it dug into the wood. It had been a long day and the headache from before had returned. I would sleep on on it.  
Dark dreams.  
My sleep was full of messages that night.  
The writing on the wall shimmered from silver blue to violent red, back and forth. So bright that I could barely read it.  
“She must – dark – dangerous” was what I made out. But who was she? Before I could worry about this further, the wall disappeared and there was Robin.   
Robin in chains and screaming, but not at me.  
“No, no! Not the mage! She is not the one!”  
His howls dissolved in tears as he strained against the chains. Then, for one second, his eyes met mine.  
“The sun” he mouthed to me. Then with sound, “Go!”  
Then there was darkness. Not the darkness of deep sleep. No, this was a smooth and oily darkness, as if some stain was slithering and oozing closer.  
My heart was beating faster.  
“Hungry” it groaned, “Blood” it whispered.  
It was approaching, closer and closer, and I could not move quickly enough.  
Then a pain in one of my fingers forced me awake.  
I lay gasping for a moment as my heart rate slowed down. I was tangled in the sheets and furs that covered the bed, and the sunlight shone through the curtains. As I gradually calmed myself, I lifted my hand to see what had caused the pain. There was only the owl ring that I had put on the night before. Nothing strange or different about it. When I tried to take it off though, it was too tight, and seemed to shrink further the more I tried to pry it loose.  
Huh.   
I didn't want to completely cut off the blood flow to my finger. I liked having all ten digits, thank you very much. So I left it alone.  
I needed to go see a bridge guardian, called Ralph of all things. The fashion of the fey had, for a while at least, lent towards the mundane names of mortals. Not true names of course, but something to be called.  
A year ago I met a water spirit named Bob. The simplest of mortal names and it wouldn't have been memorable except for one tiny detail. The water spirit was female.  
Stone is stone. Cross water. Sing. The Rhymer had told me the next piece in the puzzle. Of course he had not really revealed the first piece... But anyways, I needed to visit the resident troll.  
Trolls had been subject to a lot of false libel. They're not the ferocious monsters of fairy tale who demand flesh as a bribe for crossing their fords. Nor are they the dimwits that are easily tricked by small farm animals. Those were there different cousins, the yggr, who gave their family a bad name.  
Trolls were actually quite friendly if left alone. Not to say that they couldn't be dangerous, most residents of Underhill are if roused. But they loved music. Songs and poetry were their version of the dragon hoard.  
If I was going to get answers of Ralph, I would need a poem.

As I was running possible verse through my head I nearly ran into someone. Of course she had planned such a possible blunder.  
One of the court ladies stood before me, no scratch that, one of the female chess players. One of those intriguers who I had made my duty to avoid as much as possible while keeping a close eye upon.  
She was willow thin and who dark clothing made her skin appear translucent. Fine hands with sharp nails that I always thought must have been recently cleaned of blood and the skin she had sunk her claws into. But her eyes were the worst. The green was more of a sickly yellow color with slit pupils like that of a serpent. Always flickering and emphasized by her dark lashes. The braids on her hair held a large amount of knots to show the multitude of trapped figures she held bound in her coils.  
This was the high prince's mistress.  
“Lady Anissa” I greeted with a half- bob.   
“Mage Williams” she returned with a slight inclination.  
I did not like this woman-snake. Too much scheming and ambition wrapped in a pretty package. Not that I was against having goals, just not the kind of goals that involved murder and dark contracts.  
I smiled pleasantly at her and wished her the expected triumph in all her pursuits. I should really find some way to circumvent that. Because her triumph was generally the bloody end of some poor soul who got in her way.  
“And where might you be off to young mage?” she queried in that artless manner that was apparently all the rage at court.   
“No where special” I answered, making sure not to look directly in her eyes. There were rumors about a serpent's entrancement after all. “Just visiting an old friend after my long absence.”  
She was playing with her hair, twining a strand around one finger into a loose curl.  
“How nice” she remarked blandly, “I hear our young Prince will be returning soon. Perhaps you will pay such a visit on him?”  
It was a subtle reminder of her power. That she could wrap me into one of her knots and never let go, and that I could do nothing. Sometimes it annoyed me, Oberon's order to hide the extent of my magic. I wanted to send this woman sprawling.  
“Mayhaps” I answered vaguely. I doubted any visit of mine to His Majesty would be in anyways pleasant, but that was definitely something she did not need to know.  
She smiled beatifically, as if she had won a point against me.  
“Blessed be” she murmured as she floated off once more.  
Like hell, I thought internally as I continued towards my stone friend, choosing a more circuitous route so as to throw off any would-be pursuers.  
Like hell.

Ralph's bridge wasn't far, or rather it was near in the faery sense. I didn't have to make too many time and space jumps. His bridge was on a nice plot of time where it was autumn and the stream was always flowing and full of red and orange leaves. Beyond that, time never really passed. Oh sure there was night and day, but they did not move forward.  
It was calming and when I was younger and had less cares, or at least I could pretend I had less cares, I loved to sit on the sides of the bridge and compare songs with Ralph. It was a game we still continued now, trying to come up with something the other had yet to hear.  
When I was younger I hadn't realized how important this was. Music is magic after all, and I was a bard with all that entailed.   
“If you bring hip-hop or pop” he fake growled t me “I will consider it a forfeit and cast you into the stream.”  
“Heaven forbid” I told him seriously, “But if you supplement Bob Dylan I will be most displeased.”  
He grinned at me with an open laugh.  
“Ahh lassie it has been many leaf passings since you last visited.” His voice was a rumble of old earth and stones, not grinding but full of deep waters. He was very old and his shoulders hunched over as if he carried a great load, but his laughter was still young and his step, when you could get him moving, was still sprightly. His eyes shone comfort and happiness in green tones that, didn't sparkle, but were full of secret jokes.  
I knew his strength, I had fallen into the stream once when I was younger and the water deep enough to go over my head. He could be dangerous like all things Underhill could be, but to me he was like a favorite grandfather, one who with I was the favorite.  
“Hmmph lassie, you will never grow bored.”  
It was a kind of blessing from him.  
“Now what mischief have you been up to? I have been hearing tall tales from the trees today and last leaf rushing.”  
I couldn't tell him about the dagger. Well technically I could speak the words, but I didn't want him to worry.   
Besides I had other questions I could ask.  
“The Rhymer said I should ask you, he who will rise, who is he?” I spoke seriously in a tone I rarely used in this serene place.  
His face grew solemn.”Hmm... you ask me things I cannae answer” He shook his head slightly. “But what I can tell you, is that when he rises from Hell, the fae hills as we know them, will shatter and break, and may or may not be reformed.”  
“It's Morningstar isn't it” I demanded. It all fit and I was sure I was right.  
Before he could answer yay or nay, there was a rustling behind us and he moved his hand in a shushing motion. Things were grave indeed if he feared to be heard here of all places.  
I was just about to pass it off as a stray non-speaking fox, when the heir emerged.  
He was beautiful in that dark ethereal manner so common to those born under-Eire, but yet he was uncommon. His pale face and high cheekbones accented his slanted eyes framed by dark hair. He took after Oberon in that, but his looks were evidence of his descent from Titania. The tiny, almost imperceptible fox ears were a strange quirk of the magic that could not be claimed by either parent. I was right by half. It was a fox, but perhaps a more dangerous creature than the animal kind.  
“Fair weather on this blessed morn” he greeted. His voice was dark chocolate. The first time I met him I was lost in the voice for a full two minutes before I actually heard what he was saying. But beyond that first rush of pleasure, there was little feeling and what feeling there was consisted of cold humor and sadistic schemes.   
“Lord Morgan” I greeted, inclining my head slightly. Ralph grunted noncommittally. He told me once that, with the court fey, it was always safer to play at being less intelligent than one actually was. “Sometimes their arrogance let us humble beings escape with only being ignored. You do not want their attention, Believe me lass.”  
Of course my status in the eyes of the monarchs, would not allow me such an easy-out. Even if Morgan was one of the more arrogant bigots.  
“I trust your... meeting is going well?” he asked in doubtful tones. I wondered for a moment how he knew I would be here and that it was a meeting. These were not his usual haunts after all.  
“I was feeling nostalgic for old friends” I answered. Better to lie and see how much he knew if he called me on it. The fey never punished lying unless oath-sworn. Only fools believed lies.  
He merely raised his eyebrow at me in silent disbelief and changed the subject suddenly.  
“I hear little brother will be rising from his demonic trials in three days hence” he commented.  
I snorted, trials indeed.  
“And we will be receiving.. guests.”  
He was being surprisingly talkative. “Oh?”I asked, I don't look gift horses in the mouth. If he wanted to talk I wasn't going to stop him.  
“Indeed, apparently Jareth was quite popular and they wanted to send him home with a party of some sort.”  
I didn't believe him. If the youngest son was coming home with an entourage, and if Oberon was allowing it, it could only be as guards.


	8. Chapter 8

"Shall we go in?" he made a small gesture with his hand towards where I presumed the gate back to the court was.

Not being able to come up with a plausible excuse to stay without creating suspicion towards Ralph, I gracefully placed my hand in his claws. They looked like mortal hands, but the faint click of his nails as his fingers enclosed over mine belied that.

But he disdained the gate and suddenly we were being squeezed tight with an impenetrable force that felt as if it would crush me paper-thin. And then, with a small pop we were released and stood once more in front of the small hut.

I tried to hide my gasp for breath, but I felt a small twitch in his hands and out of the corner of my eyes he was grinning.

He had done that on purpose.

I really needed to start wearing more of my iron rings. Perhaps something with amber, I knew he hated those.

"The horn calls" he stated mysteriously before striding off towards the doors.

See this is what I hate about these males, they're so easily distracted. I was just about to give him a talking to that he would not forget for the next century.

But I suppose I did have some stockpiling to do. I headed for my not-so-secret cache.

It all fit so perfectly. Morningstar would rise, under the guise of Jareht bringing a group. Now all I needed was to find the she of that group and save the world from collapsing at my feet.

Just one problem.

I liked Lucifer. Despite his reputation he was a good friend and loyal to those who followed him. Not that I was going to go up against the Big Cheese with him, but he swore he didn't hold that against me.

Associating with the fey, sorcery and now devils. I was already destined for Hell by that understanding. Anyways, Michael was so boring.

I entered my room and pulled out the trunk under my bed, also known as my cache. Puck had ridiculed my choice of hiding spot for my hoard, telling me just how easy it would have been for him to come in and kidnap.

I had told him that if he was so inclined to feel cold iron beneath his skin that was his jurisdiction. He left off after that.

I had done just enough to tell Kit and Will of this escape hatch in case of emergency. But they, careful in not blatantly thanking me, said that they could not touch it, having been in Faery so long. That was why the back shelf of my stash held a collection of steel epees of varying weights and lengths.

Puck didn't know about that I assure you.

I slipped the small dagger that I still carried with me into the miscellaneous shelf and pulled out an iron knife to slip into my boot, various throwing stars for my hip pouch, and a long blade.

A good friend once told me that, when it comes to the fey and devils, you never can kill them enough. Granted that "friend" eventually turned out to be trying to kill me, but it was the principle of the matter.

Then the sound hit me. It was strange to hear the steady thrum of wild life and activity broken by such discord.

It was silence. And that, if anything, was the most disturbing of all.

Oh you would think there are worse things to hear. Horses screaming or flesh ripping and bones breaking. Yes gory and frightening, but the fey court was not meant for silence. Silence, especially here, meant death. Life was music and such a hush was almost a summons for Lady Death.

In the words of that famous writer whose name I can never remember, "It was quiet. Too quiet."

You ever get that feeling where you just know something is wrong? It's like a tingle down one's spine or a breath on one's neck. Whatever it was, I felt my heart beat speed up with the adrenaline rush. I sighed to myself, "Never a day's rest" I muttered, opening the door and warding it as it shut behind me. If Puck was playing a prank in order to raid my closet again... Well, he would wish he had been sent to Hell.

I set off at a quick jog, not enough to look desperate but still efficient. I didn't want to look like I was running from something after all, thus the implication that I was running towards it.

I screeched around the corner, making for the central halls.

Only to be grabbed and pulled into a side chamber that could be compared to the mundane clothes closet.

"Hsst" a voice whispered in my ear.

"Marlowe. I could have taken your hand off" I whispered back. I felt like one of those sorority girls at a frat party. Closets and whispering would do that to me after such a traumatic experience.

His grip shifted and he pulled forth a mage-lit lantern. His face glowed green in its light.

"What are you doing?" I demanded in a low voice.

"Oh you know, Will wanted to play hide-and-seek" he bit out sarcastically.

I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow.

"Such a violent bard" he muttered, but then spoke more seriously. "The majority of the court has gone to meet Hell's entourage at the gates." He let that sink in for a second. "And someone opened the gates to the Borderlands and left it open for something to slip in. Didn't you feel it?"

"No... I was away." Away being whisked around by the crown prince.

He looked like he didn't believe me.

"Will's in the armory, we'll have to go through the glass." I looked behind him and in the green glow barely made out a dark mirror.

"And how do you know whatever is out there" I gestured at the door widely, "isn't able to travel through the glass as well?"

"Well, let me put it this way. Would you rather stay here and meet it?"

"You may have a point."

He held back the curtain from the glass and mockingly bowed me through, "Lady's first."

I made a point to step on his foot as I stepped through, not that it much good against his leather boots.

The familiar rush and whirl. I hated it, but at least it was better than Morgan's means of transportation.

Will was waiting for us with a grim look in his brown eyes.

"It's nearly here" he spoke shortly. Strained. Will always had a better sense of the environment. Comes of having used so much of his work to shore up the Underhill's power.

I saw Kit's fingers tighten on the hilt of his sword, tense and watchful as Will moved to guard the glass in case we needed an emergency retreat. Will was the lover, not the fighter. But he could still pack a mean punch.

The shadows crawled, stretched... and broke.

There was a scratchy sigh, as if breath was forced through a misshapen tunnel.

It was one of the Lost. Shadows full of evil intent compiled by malicious magic with all the odds and ends that mortals misplaced so carelessly and never troubled to look for.

I once saw one made solely of mismatched socks and various television remotes.

That was its insides, its outside appearance was that of a mass of shadows with no particularly form covered by scraps of rags. What distinguished this one, was a strange metal plate on its chest.

Ahh, the iron would have scared off most of the weaker fey.

I wondered where Morgan was. He at least should have been able to deal with it.

As it was, Kit would not be up to his full strength against iron.

Nevertheless Kit grinned cheekily, "We can take him. Easy."

Sometimes I would swear he was such a teenager, despite being some thirty years.

"But haven't you heard?" the thing lurched out in creaks and groans, like something broken, " actions speak louder than words" he pulled what once must have been a sword from somewhere.

"Huh. Wonder where he got that" Will muttered.

I stiffened, Kit's magic was based on his lyrical prowess as well as his sword. Without his words, Kit was just another man with a pointy stick.

But Kit was still cocky.

"Au contraire. Haven't you heard?" he gave a mocking salute, "the pen is mightier than the sword."

Will groaned from behind me. Kit was going to get us all killed.


	9. Chapter 9

The Lost had a heavier build than Kit, more suited to a force of arms than Kit's fast slashes. It had the reach and the benefit of more weight, but Kit had years of experience in street fights. The Lost pushed his advantage, coming in hard, letting Kit parry, and took the thrust of Kit's sword through what should have been its left forearm. It didn't even falter.

Steel clashed on steel and the blades were caught. The Lost used this to push Kit downwards. Kit released his sword and rolled out, catching the extra sword Will tossed him in order to quickly block the thing's second slash, letting the blades slide along each other instead of catching.

"Damn it Kit! Fight better than this!" I yelled as I saw an opening. And took it.

My sword sang with a melody full of silent depths and promised secrets, surrounded by blue flames. It was one of my more ostentatious ones that I had appropriated from the southern lords' armories. But it still did the job; it's flames weren't just for show.

Kit and I paired off with the invader. Swords flashing in a brilliant pattern, never cutting each other. The product of years of practice.

We weaved and dodged. At one moment pushing the Lost back a step, and then losing two steps to its counter. I was beginning to realize that this thing wasn't just the normal jumble of items and intent. The Lost included one of those warriors, now dead of course, who held talent with the sword.

"The body must really smell" was my thought at the moment.

A particular kind of evil, one willing to sacrifice a living person as a tool.

Kit stumbled for a second and I was barely quick enough to dodge the slash that I had expected his sword to take the brunt of, but I felt the tip cut into my left shoulder. I felt the metal bite into my arm and sizzle down to the bone. It must have been doused in weyr blood, acidic, especially when mixed with mortal blood.

"Careless" Kit grunted.

I surged forward, pushing the Lost back and giving Kit enough time to recover.

A wave of dizziness hit me.

I swung once more and managed to hack off a limb. Only to have it grow back a moment later.

Damn it. This was so not my day.

A black blur formed in the corner of my sight, which solidified into Morgan. And he took over the duel.

I was competent with the sword. Fifteen years of enforced training would do that. But Morgan? Morgan was a master.

He laughed as he fought and I was reminded just how handsome the eldest prince truly was. He shone in battle.

The Lost continued to be forced back until it found itself backed against the gate. Then, with a final lunge, Morgan's sword stabbed through the place where its heart would have been, carefully avoiding the iron plate.

The edges of my sight were becoming foggy, and I could feel the blood loss taking effect.

I managed to catch the edge of something shining a malevolent green being slipped into the prince's cloak, but nothing certain.

Strange dreams. Clashing swords and red bursts of power. Puck screaming.

And green eyes, slanted at the tops into wings.

I dimly remember waking once, still lost in the dreaming. Puck was there, and he paled when I touched his cheek, slurring "Puck, what have you done?"

I fell back into darkness and when I woke a gain it was to a different hand replacing the cloth on my forehead.

"Sleep" Lucifer murmured. And I drifted back asleep.

I awoke after three days of tossing through sleep-torn dreams.

Puck wasn't there when my eyes finally opened and stayed so. Although Will was... present.

He had obviously been in the midst of inspiration when his sleepiness had overcome him. Not willing to leave his thoughts behind, he remained, quill slipping from between his fingers and head flat on the makeshift desk. The tips of his hair were trailing into the ink pot and I could see a large stain growing on his cheek. The words Shall I compare tattooed where his face had met the still drying scrip on the page.

Just then Kit barged in.

"Jesus wept" he swore as Will woke at the sudden noise and Kit caught sight of his appearance.

"Why didn't you wake me Will?" he demanded.

Will rubbed his face with his hands, further smudging the ink so that the words were no longer visible and so that he rather resembled his Othello.

"Go wash up Will" I demanded as I tried to stand.

Only to fall back on my bed suddenly as the world spun.

"Damn it William take it easy" Kit muttered as he caught my arm. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

I glared at him "You know that doesn't work. I didn't have a concussion"

"How would you know?" he queried, relenting.

"I remember being cut. Not having something heavy fall on my head."

"Not that it would have affected you, what with your hard head" he commented, smiling charmingly.

"What do you mean?"

"Why the hell did you keep going after you knew the sword had been doused?"

"So I was supposed to stand there and scream like one of those idiotic damsels, while the Lost gutted me?"

"Well..."

Before I could do something that, while I might not regret, would definitely have pissed off the queen by damaging one of her prized poets, one of the maids came in and shooed Kit out.

"Good. Now that your up, lady, you must get dressed. Their majesties await" She approached me, holding a dastardly confection of pink and frills. And lace.

Not happening.

The ensuing argument was a reminiscence of the historical fight over Aurora's dress.

Pink. Blue. No Pink.

Merriweather won in the end.

She finally let me go with my usual jeans and cloak after I threatened her with impending doom. Her only demand was that I at least wear the green collared shirt that matched my eyes.

I was still a bit unsteady on my feet when I finally left my chambers. Ready to face the world as it was. Just as the court was preparing for the welcoming feast for Jareth's return.

Coincidence? I think not.


	10. Chapter 10

I despise feasts. Oh sure the food, once you've been charmed resistant to its entrapment, is marvelous. It's the company I find questionable.

Crowds of politicians all with their own agendas. It wasn't any different from my step-mothers old cocktail parties. Well a little different. At least here, the males were handsome rather than overweight old geezers. But only a little.

I saw Kit and Will were holed up in their usual corner arguing excitably, probably over the wording in their poetry. Every century or so they convinced themselves that it would be a grand idea to write something together.

It never ended well. They were both to stubborn and different in their writing styles.

Then I felt a hand placed on my shoulder and the low voice of Lucifer, Prince of Hell and Star of the Morning greeted me.

He was all dark light. The black onyx of his grand wings melded into the crown of shadows, not the oily coloring of Mephistopheles, but rather the dusky tinge of a moonlit night.

"Hello Morningstar" I smiled, "back from your foray into kidnapping?" I teased him and he must of still held some of the angelic grace in that his patience remained.

"Sarah. I did not kidnap yon princeling" he gestured towards the platform where Jareth was being smothered by Titania's greeting, "he visits us. Placing some of his power into the ring that protects all not of the mortal plain."

"I don't understand. I thought your agreement with Faerie was like the Mafia. An offer they couldn't refuse?"

He threw back his head and laughed, the false light glinting off his teeth.

"That's just precious" he chuckled wiping tears from his face. "I'll have to repeat that to Faustus; mayhap. But no. Their tithe is more like a return for out wardenship."

"You make it sound as if we were dependent" Puck joined us, carefully not meeting my eyes.

"There is strength and there is strength" Lucifer answered mildly. "The fey have their power in dreams and illusions, but they are weak to the growing science and technology. The fear of the flames, however, keeps the mortals in line."

"So Bill Gates... is a minion?"

"One of our best" Lucifer nodded.

"There is Faerie and there is Hell" Puck agreed tipping his glass back like a man intending to get drunk quickly.

As he strained for the last drops, the long sleeves he wore fell back and I got a glimpse of scarring around his wrists. What would scar a fey?

Before I could confront him a hush fell on the crowd.

"The grand entrance" I thought sarcastically.

And then he was there.

I was struck by the realization that he looked... good. Obviously his stint in Hell had not harmed him.

His eyes caught mine and his face twisted into a proud smirk. Nor had his arrogance suffered a diminishing.

I turned my back on him only to see Lucifer chuckling.

"You two bring out the matchmaker in me"

"Get thee behind me demon" I glared.

He held up his hands in mock surrender.

I was caught in the swirl of court politics. Even Underhill the constant jockeying for power never stops and I was hard pressed to maneuver myself around the figures seeking either to gain my favor as an influential figure or catch me in a trap of words.

I kept an eye out for Jareth. Although I was older now, and more confident regarding my own abilities, I did not want him to corner me.

However, I could not work on two fronts without being dangerously distracted. And it was at the point where I was jousting with the wily Sir Chaucer, a strange figure with a buck's antlers and a leonine tail, when he took the opportunity thus presented.

 

"What are yo doing here Sarah?" he asked tightly; appearing in front of me suddenly when I was still trying to work out Sir Chaucer's syntax. All those thees and withalls surrounded and backward contraries. It was enough to drive a girl to distraction, or at least put her off old english indefinitely.

"Not happy to see me Jareth?" I saw the esteemed Sir Chaucer back off out of the corner of my eye. I wish I could have followed him. There was that nice refreshment table over there, or I could join Kit in baiting Will. All of these options had the benefit of not including Jareth. I shuffled sideways, but Jareth made one of those mincing half steps that only he could make appear graceful, and was in my face once more. Smiling ever so sweetly as he sipped his wine.

I had the urge to play the clumsy mortal and step on his foot.

Play nice Sarah, I chastised myself.

Well two could play this game. I bared my teeth back at him in what passed for a smile.

"I thought that was what you wanted? Well I'm here now." I kept my voice low, ensuring that everyone else thought we were saying something informative. This kind of playacting made everyone bend their ears just a little closer.

If Jareth wanted a show, I was happy to oblige.

"No" he hissed back. " I want you as far from me as possible."

"Well... Tough luck"

His answer surprised me. I had expected the anger, after all I had flouted him, publicly. And in the end he was an arrogant spoiled brat. But he seemed to have completely changed his mind. And... it hurt.

Why it hurt was completely beyond me. After all I didn't want to stay here for eternity. No matter how short that time span may appear.

My attention flicked back to Jareth's face. He looked as if he had bitten into something sour. Before he could bite my head off, his father appeared.

"Jareth!" Oberon approached us, "I see you've found your new bodyguard."

"What" Jareth exclaimed.

An excellent opportunity for me to escape, I thought, as Jareth prowled over to his father. But before I had finished the thought, Jareth was dragging me along with him.

What was it with fey and grabbing?

Once the two males were face to face they immediately ignored me. But the power levels rose dramatically.

Yes, let's not consider the fact that such a contest is almost suffocating for those surrounding us.

Jareth's magic was usually safely contained behind his shields, but it slipped out now.

I knew he was powerful, he had to be to have remained alive for so long in the face of the fey who were continuously plotting.

But it seemed I had under-estimated him.

My owl ring tightened as each wave of power hit. Not in the familiar sense of "red alert!you're about to die. Do something!" but more like a steady thrum. A purr.

Gah! My jewelry is purring. This is not good. I liked that ring, if it was going wonky I would have to replace it.

While my mental breakdown was going on, the conversation continued around me.

And Jareth was pissed.

"Do you think me so weak father" he nearly spat.

"You mistake me Jareth. I merely wish to ensure your back is covered."

"By her?"

Ooo biting insult their. Points for Jareth.

Oberon looked at him, his left brow creeping upwards.

Ominous approach of the Look.

"Old man what are you plotting?"

Sometimes I wonder just how Jareth managed to live this long. He was obviously one of Darwin's exceptions.

Oberon was still fully capable of siring another spare for his family's heritage. Come to think of it, he could replace the heir as well...

But despite such tangents, they continued to completely ignore me. Too lost in their pissing contest to notice that they were drawing a crowd.

No one was looking at them. No, that would have been too obvious. One doesn't stare at royals, they're apt to gaze back and wonder just why you are so interested in their politics. But voices lowered and heads tilted towards us.

Soon the rumor of a split between Jareth and Oberon would be spread and exaggerated to the farthest corners of Underground.

 

he party continued to swirl around us, the dancers creating a kind of vortex, and we were the center of the storm. There were angry words exchanged in quick, biting whispers. The sibilant language slipping off their tongues. It was supposed to be a beautiful language, full of lilts reminiscent of the Gaelic words of old. Now it served to create quick nips at each of their flanks, eyes flashing as the words melded into a display of power.

The look was quickly appearing on Oberon's face, with its sad doppelganger on Jareth's face. Not even the blood son could pull it off completely.

"Majesties?"

A strong pair of hands descended on my shoulders. Hands I had trusted but now felt threatening. Hands that I truly believed had betrayed us. After all, who else could the fallen figure who would rise be, but Lucifer.

"Morningstar" Oberon stated, the mask descending once more.

"Perhaps we should disperse? I believe your humans are beginning to feel the faint traces of hunger."

Oh sure, blame it on our race. We weren't the ones disrupting the revels.

"But of course" Oberon replied, the consummate host.

I began to move towards the dining hall, hoping to shake off Jareth's possessive hold. He let my arm drop inconspicuously. It would not do to be seen as dragging your fair damsel to the table. At least not physically.

I managed to not see his extended hand and demanding gaze.

Puck obligingly popped up besides me and offered his arm. He was in favor with Oberon as of the moment, and could afford to cock-block Jareth.

The large oak doors were pulled open by unseen servants and the guests arranged themselves at the table. Only the high table had a set seating arrangement based on rank; below the members of the inner court it was first come first served. There was a lot of jockeying for the right seat. Whether that meant a seat next to a potential political ally or the best view of those who were labeled the up and up was debatable. Many fell by the wayside when confronted with the ladies' nails or the gentlemens' apt use of their walking sticks and scabbards. Those who disdained the traditional dress and were more comfortable in the modern clothing of the twentieth century were not afraid of the appropriate use of elbows.

This was why the higher ranks entered last. To avoid the jockeying and to create a suitably spectacular entrance. The framing of the doorways, the spotlight effect of the chandeliers, the sudden silence... yes the fey were believers in the dramatic effect.

With Puck as my dining companion, it meant a lower seat at the high table than I would have had with say Jareth or Lucifer, but I did not mind in the least. The closer I got to the lower tables meant the lessening of the frigid royal atmosphere. The food was still good, after all.

I was delighted to find Kit and Will seated on my left, still arguing over their work and appearing completely oblivious to the politics going on around them.

Kit had been one of Gloriana's greatest spies in his time. Why should he stop now?

Puck leaned over to pour more water in my cup, managing to discreetly whisper in my ear.

"I need to speak to you later."

I smiled at something Kit had said, keeping my head turned in his direction.

I twitched my fingers at my tea cup, muttering a minor charm.

The cream swirled slightly into words.

Mirrors. Three chimes.

Then the letters quickly dissolved as I placed another sugar cube in their depths with a faint sploosh.

A small charm, frivolous amidst the greater magics of the ladies surrounding me. Lost among their charms for perfect skin, lustrous hair and beguiling voices, as well as the hexes of their rivals. No one would notice my little fizzle.

At exactly three o'clock mortal time, I made my way to my rooms. Slipping between masked revelers who faked being drunk and honest to god tipsy fairies.

Puck was already there when I arrived. Poised tensely atop my trunk. Ears cocked for trouble.

"What is it Puck?" I asked as I began to pull of the jewelry that the maids had dictated I must wear.

He opened his mouth to speak. But nothing emerged except a scratchy croaking sound. His eyes widened as he clutched his collar.

He struggled, scratching at his throat and making odd gargling sounds.

I was helpless in the face of this new evil. Oh I recognized it. I had seen geises before. But it was not something I could cast off without knowing who the caster was. And I wouldn't know the caster unless Puck told me.

His face was beginning to turn blue and his fingers twitched spasmodically as he turned panicked eyes towards me.

The garnet on his collar caught my attention. It was glowing malevolently. An obvious signal that power was pulsing through it. Too obvious to be the cause, but having it at his throat could not have benefited Puck much.

I reached for my dagger and his eyes grew even more alarmed as the edge approached his throat.

Did he think I would harm him?

The jewel dropped to the floor with a thud and a sizzle as Puck's legs folded beneath him and he sunk to the floor; but quickly scrambled away from the now dimmed jewel.

He was shivering and muttering to himself.

"Cannot say – too strong – geis – but must - " he gibbered in a long string of words without pause.

His usually proud face was pinched together and drawn tight. There were wrinkles on his tunic and his eyes darted from shadow to shadow.

"Puck." I demanded. No response.

"Robin Goodfellow. Attend me" I put some power behind the words. He snapped out of his fear in response to the command.

"Lady" he cried despairingly, "I cannae do it."

"Do what?" I was confused.

He struggled with his voice for a moment, evidence of the remaining compulsion on him.

What had Puck gotten himself into?

"You are in danger. An obstruction to his plans."

"Whose plans?"

"Mine." It was not Puck's voice that came from his throat. His eyes were no longer their previous forest green and instead shone like gold orbs without pupils.

Puck, the master of revels and great puppeteer, was now the puppet whose strings were held by another.


	11. Chapter 11

“Little mortal. You do not know what fire you play with.” He chuckled. It was not quite the nasal laugh of cartoon villains, nor the Darth Vader-esque growl, but it was still highly disturbing. “You might end up knowing too much and might just have a small accident...”  
“Oh honestly” I snorted, “that is so trite. Next you're going to say something about slipping on the stairwell or choking on a piece of fruit, right? The traditional threats and posturing? Been there done that. Couldn't you villains be a bit more, I don't know, creative?”  
I always did have a problem keeping my mouth shut.  
“You desire creativity?” he crooned dangerously, “Well then creativity you shall have.” His voice slithered over my skin as if a carnivorous beast was tasting me before devouring.  
“Yes” he continued, “I wonder how you will like this little twist...”  
Crap. Don't mock the villains Sarah, it never ends well, and usually only creates more problems.  
The presence surrounding Puck faded out and with a pop the cold sensation disappeared, reverting to normal with an air of relief. If a room can be relieved?  
Before Puck could say anything Oberon's voice sounded in my head.  
“Mage. Your presence is required in the main hall.”  
I hate it when he does that. It's too X-men for my taste. I like my head to remain private thank you very much. Not some radio frequency public announcement system for all and sundry.  
And he knew I hated it.  
I glanced over at Puck to see him staring at me.  
“Your pupils dilated.” Pause. “That is seriously weird” he stated flatly.  
I scowled at him and grabbed the cloak that I had ditched on the bed before the feast. I made for the door, but Puck caught my arm.  
“Be careful Sarah. He's closer than you think.”

“Why couldn't Jareth have just stayed in Hell?” I whined mentally as I made my way along the passage. “Things were peaceful before he arrived.”  
Wait. What was I thinking?! I had been bored out of my mind before things started going just this side of weird.  
I slipped into the entrance hall pondering whether or not it would be considered sane to be excited about an assassination attempt. I stopped under the archway, taking a moment to get my bearings.

Jareth was on the floor, surrounded by the royal family. The medic was next to him, hands glowing as they hovered over his chest.  
I felt the faint stirrings of jealousy before I squashed them brutally. I would not feel jealous of another female touching the heir's chest. It was ludicrous.  
Wait. Back up.  
What the fuck! Jareth was on the floor? The medic? What was going on?

 

Jareth lay unmoving on the tiles, paler than I had ever seen him, making his high cheekbones stand out. His eyes were closed but I could tell that he was aware of what was going on due to the faint tension lines around the corner of his eyes and mouth. The clenching of his fingers into the cloth of his tunic was also a giveaway of the pain he obviously felt. But he made no sound.  
Fey pride or male ego. I wasn't sure.  
The healer had her hands extended over his chest. Not touching, but hovering as the center point for a green glow. Healing magic.  
“Healing magic has one failure. It must combat with the innate magic of one's patient. That is why healers are so rare. They have to be more powerful than all of those injured, or else burn out.” The prissy tones of my tutor sounded in my head.  
Damn. After being dead for a decade that old man could still get to me.  
Looking closer I could tell the magic was not steady. It shivered on contact and faded in and out in certain places. Flickering.  
As I got closer I could feel the tension. Jareth's power was fighting off what it subconsciously saw as the foreign magic. Unfortunately the foreign magic was the healers. He knew this, I could tell he knew, but he couldn't stop. And it was painful; the healer was one of the more powerful and even she was having trouble dealing with him.  
If this lasted too long the healer would burn herself out and Jareth would die. If not from whatever was wrong with him then from magical exhaustion. And in his case, he was magic. If he exhausted everything that he was...  
I couldn't even think of it. There must be something...  
Something....  
“Sarah.” The strained voice brought me out of my musings. It did not hold the teasing quality of the courtier prince. No. This was the heir. The leader. From his position on the ground I could see that Jareth's eyes had opened, but were feverishly darting from figure to figure as if searching. I realized that whatever was wrong with him must have hit his eyes and he was panicking.  
The green glow was even lighter now and the healer was sweating. Frantically pouring power into her hands, even though she knew that she was almost at her limit.  
This I could do.  
Though I argued often with Jareth, I would not see him die.  
I placed my hands over the healers, allowing her to remove them with a sigh. Placing him in a kind of stasis, I moved around his power to discover what was wrong. I did not try to heal or force his body to do anything, merely looked.  
And when my power brushed up against his. It was glorious.  
You ever feel that moment where everything just fits? This was it. Instead of fighting my magic, his power wrapped around mine. Not in a suffocating way, but more like a dance. And everything was so... right.  
“Precious” he murmured weakly, reaching up with a hand to touch my cheek.  
I lost myself for a moment in the feeling, but when we touched the poison inside his body, everything jarred back to reality and I could feel my individuality once more.  
The poison wasn't the sharp, almost clean, feel of an immediate death. And I thanked all the gods for small blessings. But it was greasy and oily, and it clung to Jareth. A wasting death, since it slowly sucked on his magical core while eating away at his body.  
This kind of thing you couldn't simply remove the poison, there were crevices where remnants could hide and spread once more. Similar to the mortal cancer. No. With this you had to remove the castor.  
Not just remove, I thought, the stirrings of anger beginning in my chest so hard that it almost hurt. Not remove. Obliterate.


	12. Chapter 12

It wasn't Morningstar. I could tell that from the first touch. No the prince of lies was cordial enough that if he was going to kill you he wouldn't drag it out. Faust be damned. Which was all well and good I'm sure but that left me at square one as far as suspects go.  
But then I caught a flicker in Jareth's power. As if something broke through. It was dark reddish-green tinge that was trying to encircle Jareth's core, pulsing as it drove into his magic and retreating as he pushed it back.  
I knew that feel. I'd seen it before. It was the same look and feel as the jewel on Puck's collar.  
And suddenly it all came together.  
Yes I know that's just so cliche and plot device-y, but sometimes stories are true and it really did happen that way.  
So sue me.  
The color, the slimy feel of that particular power, it was familiar and I wondered that I had not made the connection before.  
I'd felt that same slime when the Lost had invaded. It was in the monster, sure. But it had also increased exponentially when Morgan had appeared. And I remembered wiping my hands down my jeans unconsciously when his claws had touched me.  
It was all so perfect, his opportune arrivals and the easy way he took care of the Lost after it had injured me.  
Hah, guess he underestimated my power of recovery.  
Morgan was good with a sword, true. But it was almost as if he wiggled his fingers at the monster and it poofed.  
…  
How could I have been so completely blind. Son not sun, dammit Puck. And she who might fall. Well that would be our resident snake lady wouldn't it. Such a likely pair of conspirators.  
And wonder of wonders, look who wasn't here at his brother's side.  
Now. I had a fey prince to catch.  
I bumped into Sir Chaucer on my way out of the hall. After making sure that Jareth was still in stasis and nodding to the king I had work to do.  
He looked nervous, tail in his hands and looking a bit rumpled. He was twisting the end of it nervously and when he noticed what he was doing, dropping it suddenly, only to have it back in his hands a moment later.  
This was new usually when he wasn't drunk off his ass he followed the fey policy of keeping emotions in check. Well I suppose the situation was somewhat alarming. It was rare that the royal family let things go to such an extent that their members were obviously in such dire straits. Usually such things were hushed up and tucked in their chambers. Skeletons in the closet and all that.  
But before I could slide past him with a polite nod he caught my arm in passing.  
I tensed. Sometimes his odd looks made me forget that he was a poet too and had Kit's potential.  
But he let go almost immediately. “Lady” he cautioned nervously, for once understandable. “Lord Lucifer bade me return this to you.”  
He was careful to use the word “return,” after all gifts from the devil were apt to be double edged.  
It was a small pendant, made of amber and in the shape of a swan in flight. I remembered it, I had thought I had lost it after a ball in Morgan's honor. It must have dropped in some corner and Lucifer had picked it up.  
Sure I thought, because the Morningstar goes around picking up random pieces of accessory. But regardless it was a good source of protection. Morgan hated amber and it wasn't just because of aesthetic snobbery. I didn't know why but, to him, it did as much damage as cold iron.

I caught up to him in the corner just beyond the entrance to my rooms. He was lurking there in a manner that did not promote confidence. Not that he was crouching or slinking at all. That would be beneath his dignity. But the way his back stiffened slightly when I appeared through one of the back entrances that Kit had shown me, meant that he did not expect me there and no doubt did not want me there.  
“Ah Sarah. A pleasure as always.” He quickly reasserted his veneer of aristocratic sangfroid.  
But I was in no mood to deal with his word webbing.  
“Save it Morgan.”  
He curled his lips in condescending amusement at the little mortal who dared to use that tone and to address him without suitable title.  
She on the other hand was carefully pulling her power into a sharp coil around her hand. He would underestimate her would he? Well, it was only logical after the manner in which she acted. Oberon had told her to hide whatever she could, to let only the smallest power needed to survive and appear worthy be present in her day to day workings. Obviously the prince had taken her high position to be based on other merits.  
Idiot.  
His power was no longer the fresh green that she was accustomed to in the fey. Instead it was the red tinged green that she had seen in all the things that had gone wrong. A fey gone bad, not just unseelie, but truly evil in intent.  
Too late she saw it. Despite the smallness of his power, she saw that it had been a mere decoy in his plotting. He had woven a web around her that quickly trapped her and she was thrown into the dreaming.  
Darkness, and then a bright light in the distance that quickly solidified. It seemed the dreaming was the room I had lived in as a child.  
Normalcy, the most tempting of dreams.  
I remembered the walls covered in books and bright poster. They were still there, just as the scattered paraphernalia on the desk in front of the mirror. My mother calling me to dinner from downstairs, and the smell of pork just out of the oven. But most of all it was the feel. The feel of not having to worry, no responsibilities, and of being taken care of.  
After some ten years suffering the travails of the real world and having to worry about my own survival, it was as if one of my subconscious wishes to return to life as a child had come true. A wish I hadn't even known I held.  
And... it was hard to desire otherwise. Oh I still remembered what I was supposed to be doing in Faerie, still felt the anger at Morgan. But somehow it felt less urgent, as if I had all the time in the world and so, I could wait for the years to pass once more.  
It was...nice.  
Somehow, I could let the lethargy sink in. I could forget everything.  
I could forget Jareth.  
Jareth...  
Jareth would die. His green eyes fading from the brightness of life. His hand reaching out to me.  
“Precious.”  
No.  
I couldn't let that happen.  
I might want my childhood to return, but it was an ideal childhood, not the reality. Then, I had been suffocated. Spent my hours devouring stories and dreaming of other places. And now that I had found it, I couldn't let it go.  
My surroundings shuddered, whipping in and out of focus as the compulsion broke. The web thinning.  
Shattering.  
The backlash caught Morgan by surprise, throwing him backwards, away from me. Of course, like a cat, he landed on his feet. He landed in a crouch far removed from his dignified posture of before. His fox-like trait becoming even more prominent.  
Sharper, with that kind of animalistic intensity that meant predator was sighting a prey that it wanted in its claws.  
But I was not prey.  
As the webs had thinned, the power that he had allowed to thin to early in his unerestimation of me were not sufficient to protect him.  
He shouldered the blast I shot at him, barely dodging from a full on assault. Instead the shot only managed to hit his right shoulder, taking out the nerves of his arm and keeping his usual sword arm out of commision.  
Unfortunately, he could fight just as well with his left.  
I might not survive this. The thought drifted through my mind as I drew my own blade to stand in a loose, ready position.


	13. Chapter 13: Final

A clash of blades, a weave, a dodge. I let my blade slide along his, seeking to feint a second strike but he held it steady, using his greater strength to force me backwards towards the farther wall. I scuffled back and to the side, trying to use his longer limbs to my advantage by closing. With a flash his blade struck down and slid across my leg. A minor flesh wound, more like a scratch, but it still drew blood.  
“First blood” he smirked at me.  
Shit. I hope he hadn't poisoned this blade. He looked to much like the cat who caught the canary for it to be otherwise though.  
This would have to be fast.  
I know, I know; in a perfect world this would be the moment when some stray knight comes barreling in to save the day. In such a world I would swoon at his feet.  
Well guess what. It's not a perfect world. And I'm not a bleeding damsel in distress.  
So. No knight.  
I was limping a little now, the poison was acting quickly to numb my leg. The fight went on. Me barely dodging a number of strikes and desperately seeking to put Morgan off guard. He was obviously toying with me now. And the bastard was enjoying it.  
I tried to spin out of one of his strikes and hit him on the side, but I was too slow. He got me in the back, sword sliding in through my rib cage.  
But I wasn't dead yet. He missed my vital organs by a few scant centimeters, the healers told me later.  
I didn't no this at the time of course. I was too preoccupied, I suppose.  
While he was distracted glorying in his own apparent victory, I used my last bits of strength to stab him in the chest. Males, dying female tactic. Works every time.  
He collapsed of course, I hadn't missed after all.  
I inched toward him carefully, clutching my wound to stop the blood flow.  
You know what I said about enemies and killing them a couple of times just to be sure. Well, it's especially true of fey princes. Even with the most mortal of wounds, they won't die. They will draw on Underhill magic to cling to the strings of life, and will eventually pop back up again when you least expect it.  
No. I couldn't kill him, not even with an iron sword like with most fey. He was too powerful. But I could hold him.  
“Lucifer's pendant would come in handy after all” I thought as I looped the chain over his neck to rest the pendant over his wound.  
“Now you're some other poor sod's problem” I muttered at him through the edges of my graying sight.  
At that moment, somewhat belated, the royal guards burst through the door, and I allowed myself to sink to the floor.  
The last thing I saw before darkness descended were his glowing reddish-green eyes glowering out at me.  
I seem to spend a lot of time unconscious in Faerie. Surely not a good sign of it's effect on my health.  
When I woke I was no longer on the floors of the hallway. I was laid out in the healing halls of the castle and Puck was sitting besides me reading, of all things, a heavily bent copy of Much Ado About Nothing.  
I knew it.  
“Closet Shakespearean much, Puck?” I croaked at him.  
He started, quickly trying to stuff the manuscript under his chair. Realizing the futility of it, he scowled down at me, bringing a cup to my lips.  
“Drink” he told me.  
I sipped the water slowly. It tasted like heaven.  
“How long?” I asked after drinking my fill.  
“Two weeks” he answered worriedly.  
I knew it had been longer than a couple days since I could barely feel pain from my wounds, but seriously, fourteen days! Even that was longer than my normal.  
“We put you in a trance to force your body to accept our healing. Apparently you're almost as powerful as yon prince” he gestured behind him.  
I looked over to find Jareth peacefully asleep.  
“The poison has fully disappeared” he reassured, “now his body is just resting. He should be up and about any day now.” Then he became serious. “Now, why don't you tell us all about being nearly as powerful as a fey royal. Hmm?”  
Fortunately that was the moment Oberon entered the room, and he shooed Puck out. Puck pointed at me and then his eyes.  
Crap. Now I had to deal with a hobgoblin stalking me.  
Oberon stepped up to his son's bedside and laid a hand on his forehead, brushing a stray lock away from his eyes. He looked so very tired.  
“You knew didn't you?” I whispered softly.  
He turned to me. There were more lines around his face and suddenly I was struck by the notion that he looked old.  
“Yes” he admitted, “but what could I do? He was my eldest, and he had a right to strive for the heirdom. After all, wasn't he heir before Jareth was born?”  
He had a point. Not that I liked it.  
“So. What has happened to Morgan?” I asked.  
He sighed. “Morgan has been placed in the care of the Sleeping King. He will be punished and will learn under the care of Arthur's dream magic.”  
“For a year and a day?” I demanded sarcastically.  
“No. For a century.”  
I didn't answer, and Oberon made his way out of the chamber, only stopping at the door.  
“Lady” he called back, “you have fulfilled your oath, and we are grateful. The way back to the mortal world is open to you once more.”  
Right then. An effective dismissal.  
I threw back the blankets, not surprised to see that despite everything my fugly cloak had managed to hold together.  
I looked over at Jareth. A part of me wanted to stay by his side to be there when he woke up. But the other part of me, the more rational side, knew that it wasn't yet time. There was still so much to do and I knew, that if I left now, sooner or later I would end up back in Faerie, so why make it easy. But he looked so innocent just lying there.  
Tempting, but no.  
I called a pen and parchment and scribbled something quickly on it and, placing it at his bedside, made my way out of the room towards the mirror hall.  
The closing of the door created a faint breeze that fluttered the piece of folded paper open. A single line.

 

“Catch me if you can.”


End file.
